The author mentions the gnomes of his unconscious mind.
Since my last report, I’ve been plugging away in stolen moments. (The best ones seem to be on the weekend– though there is a price to pay for holing up with a keyboard on a family outing while one’s wife entertains one’s five-year-old on a rainy day).
As time gets harder to come by (with the planning and marking and deadlines of a teaching day job crowding things out), I find that the toughest thing is to keep the book clear in my mind so that I know what the next steps were meant to be and what the current puzzles are.
We have all had moments where we’ve been stuck on a problem only to have a light bulb moment in the shower or the grocery store or some other place nowhere near a desk. We fill our minds with our work and then find that the ingenious gnomes who populate the unconscious corners of our minds are working through the night.
My current challenge is keeping my head full and the gnomes gainfully employed.
Wish me luck!
PS: The book is tight to page 504 and we’re in the midst of the most muddled.
Lost in a haunted forest, characters express their optimism about further progress.
Your author is striving to maintain something like progress as he makes the transition to moonlight part-time writer.
It’s fourth day of the school year (if you’re a teacher in the New York system responsible for various things), and the rewrite of the ghastly haunted forest scenes is underway.
On page 493, the characters have put their noses in the terrible forest. And, while you and I know that scenes have been moved and motivations are shifting, the characters are only just getting started (the poor dears).
If you work in a creative field, you will know that it doesn’t take long to get your head out of a project.
My characters might be lost in the woods, but, if I don’t keep pushing them forward, it’s likely that I’ll be lost in the same woods until the Winter Break. (And that really can’t be how this turns out).
[Author shakes fist at universe].
Your author creates a creative graphic in order to complain about needing more time to write.
Revisions of Dave’s Third Book, have reached the middle of the manuscript’s biggest muddle — just as the school year is beginning.
The situation: My characters have blundered into a terribly, repetitive and deeply confusing series of chapters in a haunted forest. Readers are in grave peril (should they somehow encounter the book). The thing needs some real adjustments. I’m cutting scenes, remotivating nearly everything and moving the beginning to the end. (Or nearly).
It’s fiddly work and will take concentration.
The danger here is that, as school sucks up time and attention, the whole project vanished (with the characters) into the mists and trees and repetition.
Is there hope? This weekend, I worked in stolen moments during a little family getaway. (We know these lovely people with a pool and a house in a patch of woods on the side of a hill — it’s a bit of the gilded age up there). This was actually something of a test. I managed to keep chomping through scenes as friends and family swirled around me. (I’m not usually able to do this).
Now, the big challenge starts. School kicks off. I’m already fielding email and sending information to teachers. I’ve got to find a way to hang on (and hit the manuscript daily to keep things alive in my tiny mind).
Wish me luck! (Except reports as news is available).
Somehow your author believes this image represents a struggle of some sort.
The summer of 2014 is coming to an end and with the arrival of autumn I expect a return of the curious version of writer’s block created by the totally-otherwise-occupied mind.
Any of you who has read a little about creativity will have discovered for yourself the idea that people need to keep projects simmering on the various back burners of the brain.
When I, for example, am teaching, I spend a lot of mental energy on teaching. To teach the way I do requires a constant search for resources and the constant development of new tools. (Everything my students do each day is mounted online and loaded with links. They run into video presentations created by their teacher, they find themselves referred to online posters and screens with graphics and all kinds of things mostly designed for them by their teacher).
The back burners of a teacher are often filled with teaching.
This fall, I am very close to having a solid draft of Dave’s Third Book finished. This fall I will be a little better at stealing time.
Keck talks with dragons. Things get unsurprisingly odd.
Dictation software can be a great help, but I’m not sure that it will ever handle medieval fantasy.
I’ve been in the habit of scribbling scenes directly into notebooks (usually with a lovely Japanese fountain pen!)
The idea was to keep myself away from such distractions as web searching, social media and incessant polishing by taking my notebook and pens up into a park or coffee shop and writing without the aid (or distraction) of modern technology.
My intention was to capture all of this scribbling with a popular speech-to-text package whom I will refer to as the dragon from here on out.
Sadly, in my haste to go bowling through page after page of scrawled text, I’ve tended to miss those moments when the dragon went wrong. And, where a human secretary might have interrupted me to ask a clarifying question (“I’m sorry, are you insane?” or words to that effect), my dutiful old dragon just kept on going.
The end results adds a touch of surrealism to every page.
A partial list of the oddest is provided below:
I would have you with for your oaths to be if you will.
He took her small head.
Ottawa, he she was booed a dream or two yet.
Hassan is a perilous thing, do you know? They do not warrant a man.
Durand still felt the graph presence of Google
Two of the rats allies detach themselves from the fracas.
He glanced endurance direction.
with manic goals or colors of iron clamped around the man’s ankles.
Antidrug to the ground.
I’m not sure that the dragon and I are writing the same book.
Keck shares an incomprehensible mind map for some reason. (It includes an irrelevant and toothy monster)
For the last few weeks, I’ve been dealing with mainly small problems in my current novel. (Though some felt large at the time).
When I hit a larger problem (mostly just to keep my mind locked around it), I’ve been using two old tricks. The first (one I don’t often use, actually) is just to start typing my thoughts as quickly as I can think them.
When I teach kids to solve problems and generate ideas, I’ll sometimes throw this at them under a variety of guises, and it can work.
My favorite, however, has long been “mind mapping”. I’m a natural doodler and I like to be able sketch out connections. I find that even the doodling itself helps to keep my teeth in the problem as I worry away at it. My mind maps are often loaded with sketches and almost always dabbed with blobs of grey and colour.
I had a good old-fashioned half hour bash at a plot problem today and, for the heck of it, took a picture. That’s the image heads this post. The one in the pic is actually pretty simple. I started to find a vein of connected ideas that seemed to work for me. But, it’s a big piece of paper and much of the ink is blue.
So there. Now you know.
During the revision process, your author begins to suspect his own motives…
Several times during this big rewrite, I’ve found myself cheerfully writing scene after scene when I begin to suspect that something is not quite as it should be.
Usually, it turns out that a character hasn’t spoken in forty pages (or the damned horses have disappeared, died and reappeared again).
It’s the literary equivalent of that “Have I left the oven on?” feeling.
Most recently, it was motivation that went wrong. After chapters of a building supernatural menace, suddenly everybody became thoroughly distracted by a crucial political issue.
Now, while the political issue was indeed crucial, the original supernatural menace really ought to have been on their minds. (To be honest, it ought to have been burned into their minds in such a way as to defy generations of therapy). But they simply forgot.
It’s this kind of thing that creeps up on you. It’s the growing sense everything is consistent and polished and sensible and solid — but fundamentally and increasingly wrong.
My hope is, it never happens again!
Yours from the last week of summer,